So Traviata didn't make me cry, at all, in the production by Willy Decker dated, I think, 2012, from the Metropolitan Opera, which seems to be framed in the story of Violetta's relationship with her doctor, with whom she is snuggling during the prelude to act 1, beneath the gigantic hospital clock on the wall stage right set to 11:55, and who follows her around the entire production before he finally opens his mouth to sing at the end of